


An Unexpected Wish

by Gryphonheart



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Faustian Bargain, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Multi, Slow Burn, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonheart/pseuds/Gryphonheart
Summary: When an untimely accident pushes Marla Quin into Fate's hands, a deal is struck for the one thing Gaunter O'Dimm never expected to be asked of him.
Relationships: Gaunter O'Dimm/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 101





	1. A Deal, Once Struck

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the Blood and Wine, and Hearts of Stone expansions, and assumes that the good endings of each have been respectively achieved. I'm very anxious about posting my work online, but I'd love to hear an opinion other than my own, so please review if you can <3  
> ~ Ro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an untimely accident pushes Marla Quin into Fate's hands, a deal is struck for the one thing Gaunter O'Dimm never expected to be asked of him.

Marla was not spectacular in any way. She was 27, single, and her few friends would describe her as an introvert who never left the house. She was neither pretty nor plain, just the right amount of both to never really be noticed, and she was content with that for the most part. She lived in a small home in the Detroit metropolitan area with her African Grey parrot, Kasper. She worked from home as a buyer for an automotive corporation. Marla wasn’t in a position where she could really say she “felt successful,” but the bills got paid, and there was a little money left over for somewhat extravagant food sometimes. All in all, her life was unremarkable.

She was walking to the grocery store to pick up some fresh produce to make with dinner, and listening to music on her earbuds, when the first extraordinary thing happened to her. The world went black, and the last thing Marla heard before the buds flew from her ears when her head hit the pavement was the last line of the song she had been listening to, echoing through her conscious. “You made me a believer….believer.”

She opened her eyes to a clear blue sky above her. Flowers littered the grassy field where she found herself, and a few large bumblebees buzzed lazily from blossom to blossom. Marla sat up and looked around. Gone was the street, the crosswalk, and the tall buildings she had last seen. Instead there were trees, a stream, and what appeared to be a small medieval-looking town off in the far distance.

“Where am I?” her lips whispered, more to herself than anything. Her head throbbed with a pain more intense than she had ever experienced. She reached back to feel the back of her scalp, and was startled when her hand was caught by someone behind her. As Marla turned to face the mysterious person, her vision began to blur, and she felt like she was either going to faint or throw up, and she wasn’t sure which.

“What’s...wrong with me?” she wondered aloud.

“You’re dying,” the person said. It was a man, and his voice was gentle, yet had an air of quiet authority. It sounded like liquid silver to Marla’s hazed mind.

She struggled to turn, and his hands laid her down in the grass gently. Urgently, she searched for his face as the darkness in the corners of her vision slowly crept closer. Her hands held tightly to her sweater.

“I’m...not ready to die,” she whispered. Tears trailed down her face, and she finally saw him. His face was not quite thin, but his cheekbones cast a slight shadow in the sunlight. He had a shaved head with tiny black hairs peeking through the skin, and his eyes were a deep dark brown that Marla found comforting, somehow. 

Thoughts and memories of her life sprang unbidden to her mind, images of her mother cooking pasta, the first time Kasper said “I love you” to her while she was cleaning the house…

“You’re not from here,” the man noted. He held her cell phone in his hand, and was eyeing it curiously. “Not from this world.”

Marla gave her head a small shake, and the world spun. Images of her aunt dancing with her at a wedding she couldn’t remember attending flooded her mind. Her ears were suddenly filled with echoes of off-key half notes of music from songs she didn’t know. 

The man clapped his hands once, and everything seemed to still for a moment. 

“Would you like to live?” His lips moved, but it seemed to Marla that she heard the words in her mind. He took one of her hands, and was looking at it, as a palm-reader would do. “Make a deal with me, and I can make it so.”

“ A deal with you…” she repeated. The words were coming out slowly, more slowly than she formed them in her mind, oozing from her like cold molasses rather than pouring as she was accustomed, and the sensation was strange.

He nodded, apparently waiting for a response from her. Marla felt his fingers between hers for the briefest of moments, and a scene from her past played itself in her mind: laying on the couch with her ex-fiance, Lucas, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Almost sleeping while watching a panda special on National Geographic, and his hand curled into hers. “I love you,” the whisper echoed his voice in her memory. Her vision began to tint a blueish purple, and another tear fell from her eye.

“Even with time stopped, you’ve only a moment to make your choice,” the man said. His voice seemed so calm, for such urgent words.

Marla looked up at the man. His eyes looked kind. The thought floated into her head for a moment. She was going to die, and at least she wasn’t alone.

“What would you trade your soul for?” he asked, “I can save your life if it is promised to me.”

“My...soul?” The words fell from her lips as a half question, and he nodded. Her eyes blurred with tears, and he disappeared from her vision. She lay in Lucas’ arms again; the sun poured in from the window, making his light brown hair almost glow. She heard the man’s voice in her head again, just a faint call this time.

“What would you ask in return?”

Marla felt Lucas’ hand in her hair. Everything was fading, and she closed her eyes and let out a breath. 

“My soul...for your love,” she whispered.

The last thing she heard was a loud “CRACK” as the man clapped his hands, and she felt a burning sensation from her neck, all the way down her left arm. Then all was still and the world went black once more.

Gaunter O’Dimm looked down at the woman who lay unconscious before him.

“I don’t believe you understand what you’ve asked of me, my dear,” he said softly. His fingers touched her chalk-white face, pushing a deep sleep into her. She couldn’t wake for what came next. He lifted her gently, so that her head rested on his leg, facing away from him. His hand cupped the back of her head in a slight pulling motion, and her collapsed skull made itself whole again. 

He lay her head carefully down, and the girl’s weight shifted her into his lap, facing upward. Her hair was matted with blood, and the grass where she had lain was stained red with it. She hadn’t looked afraid, as most he had seen at Death’s doorstep often did, begging and pleading for their lives. This woman had just looked sad...or broken.

“I have heard almost every kind of wish, but yours I did not expect,” Gaunter said quietly, studying her face. A final tear had fallen from her eye, trailing down her cheek, and he watched as it fell to her neck. “All the fools who imagine themselves clever enough to entice me into a deal I cannot fulfill... and you may have done so without ever entertaining the notion.”

With an arm beneath the girl’s knees, and the other behind her back, Gaunter rose to his feet. A doorway appeared in the air, and he carried her through it, disappearing from the hillside as though they had never been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out to @phaneycat for inspiring me, pushing me to succeed, and cackling with me over our dear Mr. O'Dimm using Downton Abbey gifs. <3 Ilysm


	2. A New Gallery Of Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marla wakes in an unfamiliar house. While recovering from her injuries, she faces questions from a mysterious stranger, and must confront the possibility that she may not know the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alludes heavily to the quest "La Cage au Fou," from the Witcher 3. Please leave a review <3 Even if it's just a short message, I'd love to know your thoughts!  
> ~ Ro

Marla awoke to the sound of birds singing outside her window. She opened her eyes sleepily, half-expecting to see Kasper sitting on her chest like he normally did in the morning, having a snooze, or preening himself. Today, however, he was not on her bed...and neither was she. 

“This isn’t my room, this isn’t my house,” she thought to herself, looking around. She was beginning to panic. Had she been kidnapped? She couldn’t remember staying over a friend’s house, or ever having a friend who had a house like this one. The room was a lovely medium wood tone, cherry or mahogany, she wasn’t sure. Light streamed in through the large window on the wall behind her, and on the opposite wall hung a painting of what looked like a beautiful meadow. There was a small fireplace built into the wall to her left, and a candelabra sat on a table on her right side. Another table stood on the left side of the bed, and on it sat a small mirror that had been propped up to face the bed.

She started to turn towards the mirror to catch her reflection, when a sharp pain hit her suddenly, and Marla gasped at the intensity of it. Her head felt like it was splitting. She had had migraines before, but this was something new. She screwed her eyes shut and clutched at the back of her head with both hands.

“Please stop, please stop, please stop,” she begged in a whisper. She lay curled into the fetal position, silently sobbing, when she heard someone enter the room. Someone touched one of her hands, and Marla cracked her eyes open to see a tiny frail-looking old woman looking at her with concern. She held in her other hand a wine goblet with some kind of orangey-brown liquid in it.

“It’s alright, dear,” the woman said, smoothing Marla’s hair behind her ear. “He said you’d be hurting, and to give you this.” She held the cup to Marla’s lips, and she opened her mouth and drank. Anything to stop the pain. It tasted like the time she had tried kombucha and hated every minute of it.

Almost immediately, the pain ceased.

“What kind of witchcraft is THAT?” Marla asked, her eyes wide in shock. She looked from the goblet to the woman, who now smiled a huge toothy grin at her. It was slightly terrifying, because the woman’s teeth looked like those of a fairy tale monster who might eat children. Marla was reminded of an angler fish, and immediately felt guilty because this woman had been nothing but kind to her.

“He said you’d need it,” the woman said again, setting the goblet on the small bedside table beside the mirror. “He also said you’d be needing quite a lot of rest.” Marla felt her eyelids growing heavy as the woman spoke.

“W-who-” she started, and cut herself off with a yawn. The bed was comfortable, and she was so tired. The sunlight felt warm and cozy.  
“I’m Marlene,” the woman said, “I’m the cook here. The lord of the house doesn’t know you’re here yet, no one was here besides me when he brought you.”

“Who brought me?” Marla asked, feeling herself quickly falling asleep. She thought she heard Marlene say “Master Mirror,” but that seemed too strange to be someone’s name. She gave in to the pull, and fell into a deep sleep that was dreamless except for a brief glimpse of a man’s face - lit by deep, brown eyes that seemed to watch her curiously.

She drifted slowly back to consciousness to the sound of lowered voices just outside the door to her room.

“He just left her here? No explanation?” a man’s voice asked. It was a pleasant, deep-ish voice, but he sounded upset.

“That’s what happened. And he said she would need looking after for a little while - that she’d been injured badly, somehow.” The second voice was Marlene’s, and she sounded defensive.

“So you just let him into the house with no questions asked?” the man’s voice asked. He sounded irritated, and possibly angry. Marla began to worry that he was angry with her for being in the house. She took the second pillow and squeezed it close to her.

“Begging your pardon, but you know the story of the last time I refused to help a stranger in need,” Marlene’s voice said in a cautious tone. “That same particular stranger, too, if you follow my meaning,” she said matter-of-factly. 

The man sighed. “I do,” his voice said. 

The door opened, and Marla closed her eyes. “If he thinks I’m asleep, maybe he’ll be less angry,” she thought to herself, as footsteps creaked across the floor, and someone heavy sat on the side of the bed beside her legs.

“I know you’re awake,” the man’s voice said gently. “I was hoping you’d be up to talking to me for a little while.”

Marla turned toward the man’s voice, and opened her eyes to see who she assumed Marlene had called the lord of the house. The first thing she noticed about him was the long, deep scar running through his left eye and down his face, and it drew her eyes to his, which were a topaz yellow. But more interestingly, they were _cat’s_ eyes, and she couldn’t look away. His face didn't look old, but he had long, white-silver hair that was gathered into a loose ponytail behind him, and an undercut that ran up to his ears.

“You’ve never met a witcher before, have you?” he asked, the corners of his lips turning upwards into what was either a smile, or a smirk. 

Marla frowned. “A what?” she asked, a puzzled look on her face.

“A witcher,” he repeated, watching her with those odd eyes. “Trained monster-hunters. Humans with applied mutations to better suit them to the task, like enhanced eyesight.”

She shook her head, and winced as another sharp pain hit her. 

“Why does moving my head hurt so much?” Marla asked, bringing her left hand up to hold her head. It was at this point she noticed her left arm was covered in bandages. “What happened to me?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the man in front of her. 

He narrowed his eyes, and the pupil slits got smaller. He moved closer to her, then paused. “May I touch you?” he asked, looking at her. Marla nodded, then cried out with the pain that accompanied the movement. He gently pulled her to a sitting position, with one hand bracing her shoulder, and the other behind her back. Marla felt his fingers move through her hair, tracing something on the back of her head. 

“Hmmm,” he mused, setting her carefully back down to lean against the pillows. “I don’t know what happened, but there are traces of magic.”

Marla’s eyes widened. “Magic?” she repeated. The man nodded. 

“Can’t be too sure of the reason, but I’ve got a friend who might know more,” he said, eyeing her bandaged arm, before looking back up at her. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Marla Quin.” Saying her own name was always strange to Marla; it always sounded like the Joker’s Harley Quinn, and she had been teased about it mercilessly growing up. She squinted at him. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she started timidly, “but where am I? And who are you?”

He laughed, and the light from the window caught his silver hair, making it appear as though it were made of light. “Sorry,” the man said, “I meant to introduce myself earlier. My name is Geralt, of Rivia. You’re in my home, Corvo Bianco, in the duchy of Toussaint.”

Marla looked down at the blanket. She didn’t know where Toussaint was, but judging from the decor, and how Geralt and Marlene dressed, and *magic* being spoken of realistically in this place, she estimated it wasn’t anywhere she might know. Marla’s hand reached unconsciously to her chest, to hold the necklace she always wore. It was a clear resin sphere, with two of Kasper’s red feathers inside forming a heart. But it wasn’t there, and her heart sank. 

Geralt must have noticed her change in demeanor, because he reached out and touched her hand. “Hey,” he said, wrapping his hand around hers, “It’ll be alright. Where are you from? I can send word that you’re safe to your family, or whoever you’d like.” 

“Michigan,” Marla said softly. She looked back up to Geralt’s face. His brow was furrowed, and he looked concerned.

“There’s nowhere by that name in this world, to my knowledge.” he said, retracting his hand from hers. “Where did he find you?”

“He?” she asked, “What do you mean?”

Geralt sat back. “The man who brought you here,” he began. His cat eyes seemed sharply focused on her, and it was a little unnerving. “What do you know of him?”

Marla frowned, and looked down at her hands, picking at the edges of the bandage. “I...I don’t remember,” she stammered. She felt like she *should* remember such a monumental event, but her memory was a foggy haze. “I...he had a kind face, and brown eyes. He said...that I was dying. Did he bring me here?” she asked, looking back up at him. 

Geralt nodded, but said nothing. His eyes traveled to the mirror on the table beside her, then to her bandaged arm. He moved closer again, and took her left hand. “”Tell me,” he said, slowly unwinding the cloth, “what deal did he make with you?”

“I don’t understand,” Marla said, watching his eyes. “I don’t remember making any deal. I don’t remember coming here, or how I woke up in this….place.” Her head was beginning to ache again.

“Whether you remember it or not,” Geralt said, tugging the last of the fabric from her shoulder, “you have a contract with him, because he marked you.” He gestured to her arm, and Marla followed his eyes to a long, curling mark, that scrawled across her skin from her fingertips to as far up her shoulder as she could see. It was a deep flame-red that almost glowed, and it reminded Marla of how fiery lava looked against the black of a volcano. She turned her wrist over, and where the mark ended in the palm of her hand, there appeared to be something written in some form of language that Marla couldn’t understand. “That’s his sign.”

“Who is he?” she asked, breaking her gaze away from the mark on her hand to look back at him. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know the true answer to either of those questions,” Geralt said warily. “But as far as I know, his name is Gaunter O’Dimm.” His eyes looked sharply back up at her. “He’s the Devil, or as close as you will ever come to meeting one.” He gestured to the mirror next to her bed. “And he’s watching you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to LovelyRita1967 for helping me with editing <3


	3. Make Me A Believer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving correspondence from the mysterious Gaunter O'Dimm, Marla meets a friend of Geralt's, and she begins to realize that magic is very real in this new place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you can! Your words give me wings <3  
> ~ Ro

Marla didn’t think she could ever be as exhausted as she had been since she first woke in Corvo Bianco. She didn’t know how long it had been since she arrived, since she had spent little of the time awake. Despite Geralt’s warning, she had insisted that he leave the mirror beside the bed, partly because she didn’t really believe in magic, and partly because she hoped that it was real, and that she would somehow catch a glimpse of him in the mirror. 

Gaunter O’Dimm. The name sounded like it came from a fairy tale. Marla tried to picture him, but all she remembered were his eyes. The mark on her arm seemed to glow faintly in the dark, although she told herself it was probably a trick of the light, combined with her imagination. Even still, It reminded her a little of Beast’s magical rose, from Beauty and the Beast. She looked at the mirror. “I don’t know if you’re there, or if you can hear me,” she whispered to it. “but I... I lost my necklace. It isn’t valuable, but it’s important to me. It’s a small, clear ball with two red feathers in it, on a silver chain. I would be so sad if it was gone forever. If you find it, would you please save it for me?” Even if she felt foolish, she had tried.

Marla was lulled to sleep by the sound of rain hitting the window, and thunder off in the distance. It was the half-light of the early morning, when she awoke sharply to the sound of someone walking across the floor in her room. She opened her eyes to see what looked like a doorway disappearing from the air.

“Is that…” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes. When she looked again, nothing was there. “I must have still been dreaming,” Marla thought, turning onto her side. She looked over at the mirror. It still only showed her reflection, and the room around her. She was about to close her eyes to go back to sleep, when she noticed something sitting on the table next to the mirror - something that had not been there before. It looked like a small package, loosely wrapped in paper. Marla took it, and slowly unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened when she saw what lay inside: her necklace. The silver chain she remembered was gone, and the sphere now hung on a delicate gold chain. 

“He heard me,” she realized, slipping the chain over her head. Marla held the pendant tightly; it was all she had of home, and Kasper. Looking at the paper, she noticed there was writing on one side of it. It was a sharp, yet elegant script written in a dark blue ink:

_“I’m afraid your chain has seen the end of its days. I’ve taken the liberty of replacing it with one that you’ll find a bit more resilient to wear. I am glad to see your condition is improving. Perhaps you will tell me your name, as I am certain that by now you know mine.  
Until our next meeting,”_

The note was signed with an elaborate calligraphic “G,” scrolling under itself with a flourish.

Marla looked from the note to the mark on her hand, and the necklace that she now held, then to the mirror in front of her. It was no longer a question: magic was real in this place, and whether she believed in it or not, it could affect her. Gaunter O’Dimm had been here while she slept, and he had left the package for her. He was watching her, and listening to her somehow through the mirror, that much was undeniable.

“My name is Marla Quin,” she whispered to the mirror. “I don’t remember what happened to me, or how I got to this place, but I want to thank you. For saving my life, and for bringing my necklace.” Her eyes looked back at her from the mirror’s surface, and she stifled a yawn. “I hope I can thank you in person soon,” she added. Marla fell back asleep, and the letter in her hand drifted to the floor.

When she woke again, light streamed in through the window. Marla felt...better. She pushed herself to a sitting position, and turned her head in both directions. When the motion wasn’t met with pain, she almost cried in relief. She pulled the blanket back, and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed. When her bare feet touched the floor, she noticed that instead of her t-shirt, sweater, and jeans, she now wore what appeared to be an oversized white shirt, with long, large, cuffed sleeves like the pirates at the renaissance festival wore. Looking down, she saw that she also wore a soft pair of black leggings that reached her ankles, and made her feet look stark white in comparison. 

Marla noticed the note from her mysterious rescuer lying on the floor next to the bed, and she reached down, and picked it up. She couldn’t help but read it again; the script was beautiful. 

“Until our next meeting…”

She set the paper on the table beside the mirror, wondering when she would see him again. She was trying so hard not to think about when (or if!) she would be able to go home, or when she would see Kasper again. “Good morning,” she told the mirror. “Or afternoon, I’m not really sure which it is right now.” Marla looked at her reflection, and ran a hand through her long, ashy brown hair. She had a silver hair here and there, but nothing like Geralt. She smiled at the mirror. “My head doesn’t hurt today,” she said. “I think I might go outside.”

She slowly rose to her feet, and took a few steps away from the bed. She felt no pain in her head, but her back was incredibly sore, and felt bruised all along her spine, as though she had been hit with something. Marla stretched her shoulders, and felt a satisfying crack in her neck. She walked to the door and opened it, then followed a short stairway down, into what looked like a dining room.There was a small fireplace, and three mannequins wearing suits of armor along the opposite wall. “Geralt has such a nice house,” she thought, marvelling at the beautiful dark wood interior. 

Behind the armor stands, there were two paintings hanging on the wall, and Marla stepped in a little closer to examine them. One was of a mountain surrounded by clouds, overlooking a grassy field filled with flowers, and a small pond. The other was of a woman with long, dark hair, and purple eyes that were accentuated against her pale face. She looked slightly amused; a smirk on her lips. Marla wondered who she was. Clearly she was important to Geralt, if he had an intricate painting of her in what looked like the main room of his home. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” a voice asked from behind her, and Marla almost jumped. She turned around to see a tall, thin, older-looking man. With wild black-silver hair and matching mutton-chops, he looked as though he had stepped from the pages of a Charles Dickens novel. “Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, at your service,” he said elegantly, sweeping into a shallow bow. “Although that is quite a lot to say, so most people just call me Regis.” He smiled down at her kindly. 

“I’m Marla,” she said, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. “Marla Quin.”

“What a lovely name,” Regis said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marla.” A blush rose to her face. She had never been greeted so… royally before.

“Geralt had to go away for a while,” Regis continued, “He has asked me to keep you company in his absence.”

“I’m sorry,” Marla said, looking down at her hands. She fidgeted with her necklace. “I didn’t mean to make him feel like someone needs to watch me in his house. I swear I’m not a thief.”

Regis chuckled softly. “I think his concern was that you might need someone to look after you,” he said, “at least for a little while. Given what he told me of the extent of your injury, I am inclined to agree with him.”

Marla anxiously squeezed her hand around her necklace, feeling embarrassed for her assumption, then frowned. “Where’s Marlene?” she asked, looking back up at him. “Did she leave, too?” He nodded.

“Marlene is staying at one of the inns in the main city,” Regis said. “It seems she is somewhat afraid of your... friend.” His coal-black eyes lingered on her left arm, and Marla got the uneasy feeling that he could somehow see the mark on her skin through her sleeve. She felt terrible. Her presence had made Marlene uncomfortable in her own home. “It will be good for her,” he said, seeming to sense Marla’s misgivings about the situation. “Geralt has been trying to get her to venture out to the city for some time now.”

Marla forced a smile to her lips. “I hope you weren’t pulled away from anything important on my account,” she said earnestly, glancing back up at him. Regis laughed, and shook his head.

"Not at all," he said pleasantly, “I can dig my nose into a book anywhere.” He gestured to the table, where Marla could see a stack of large, leather-bound books. “Besides, Geralt pesters me to come out of my crypt for a visit to Corvo Bianco about two or three times per year. It’s almost Autumn now, so I was due for an outing. He’s really quite a good person, you know.”

Something he had said struck Marla as odd. “Your… crypt?” she asked, looking at him quizzically. Regis smiled down at her, but he looked almost sad.

“Would you like to accompany me outside?” he asked. “I feel this conversation merits fresh air and sunshine, and your health will benefit from both, I think.”

Marla looked down at her bare feet. “Did I have any shoes when I was brought here?” she asked hopefully.

Regis turned toward what must have been the door. “There are some boots that looked like they might be yours,” he said, “although even if they aren’t, I suspect no one would mind if you borrowed them.”

Marla walked over to where he had pointed, and sure enough, a pair of grey leather boots sat by the door. They looked to be knee-length, and she was doubtful at first that they would fit her, but upon sliding her foot inside one, it was almost as though they were made for her. The inside was a soft wool that reminded her of her Ugg boots, and it was very comfortable on her bare feet.

“Shall we?” Regis asked, offering his arm to her. She took it, and he opened the door and led her outside. 

It was a sunny day, and Marla’s eyes were immediately overpowered with the sun’s light. She brought her free hand up to shield her eyes, and her feet stumbled as her head was struck by a sharp pain, presumably from the bright light. Regis’ arm caught her weight, and she stayed upright. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at her.

Marla nodded. “Yeah,” she said, straightening herself. “It’s just really bright out here, and it’s making my head hurt.”

“Ah,” he said. “There’s some shade close by, I can take you to it.” He led her to a large tree that sat a short way downhill from the house. Underneath it was a small bench, fully shaded by the tree. Marla sat down on it, grateful to be out of the light. Regis sat beside her at a polite distance, releasing her arm.

She blinked a few times as her eyes finally adjusted to the slightly dimmer light. “Thank you,” she said, looking over at him. “I don’t know why my eyes are…” she stopped, staring at his face. In the light of day, he appeared paler than anyone she had ever met. His sunken, black eyes were outlined with red, and shadowed by dark circles underneath. His lips were an odd dark color against his skin, and they curled into what looked like a sad smile as he looked down at his hands.

“I imagine you have questions that you are too polite to voice,” he said, folding his hands. “Let me assure you that I have heard every question you may think of, and many more that are twice as rude. Nothing you may ask will offend me.” Regis leaned his elbows on his knees, and looked over at Marla. “Before I answer the most pressing question, however, please understand that I have no intention of harming you, or otherwise allowing any harm to befall you in my care,” he said firmly, carefully observing her face as he spoke.

“I look the way I do, because I am a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to LovelyRita1967! You are the best editor <3


	4. Regis And The Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon making a new friend, Marla begins to realize just how alone she had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is short, but it made me so happy. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. <3  
> Please review! Your words mean the world to me!  
> ~ Ro

_A vampire._ Marla wondered what other creatures were no longer fiction in this otherworldly place. She stared at the man beside her for a moment. The sad resignation on his face told her that Regis was used to being rejected because of this fact, and yet he had not tried to hide it from her.

“I understand if you would rather I kept my distance from you,” he said, and began to get up. Marla caught his hand.

“When did you get here? To the house, I mean,” she asked, pulling him back to sit with her. Regis looked surprised at her question. He raked his other hand through his hair.

“Sometime yesterday morning,” he replied, “but what does it matter?”

“If you wanted to hurt me, you could have easily done so while I was asleep, without a fight,” Marla began. “I mean, even if I did fight you, what am I going to do? You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, and I have this random debilitating pain in my head.” Regis looked like he wanted to interrupt, but she kept talking. “You don’t strike me as someone who wants to make people afraid,” she said, looking at him. He shook his head in agreement, and she continued, “and yet you still told me, even though it’s clearly stressing you out that I might think less of you for it.” Marla squeezed his hand. “I think you deserve more of a chance than people usually give you.”

To say Regis looked shocked would have been an understatement. He looked down at Marla’s hand around his. “You've no idea the weight your words carry for me,” he said, looking back to her face. He looked as though he might cry. “Your trust is a gift, truly, and I am honored that you deem me worthy to receive it.”

Marla had never seen anyone more in desperate need of a hug. It was an awkward angle, and she couldn’t reach very well due to his height, but she threw her arms around his shoulders anyway. Regis stiffened for a moment, probably surprised by her action; but then he leaned in, and gently pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her. She immediately decided she liked hugging him, because he smelled distinctly like a spice cabinet, and he ran one of his hands through her hair, which she found incredibly comforting. Their embrace lasted far longer than would be considered normal for two people who had just met, but he didn’t pull away.

“This is nice,” Marla said softly, “I’ve lived by myself for a long time, and I can’t remember the last time I was this close to someone.” Regis said nothing, but she felt his arms tighten around her ever so slightly. A moment passed, and a small breeze ruffled through her hair.

“May I ask you a question of a somewhat personal nature?” his voice asked, just above her ear.

“Go ahead,” she replied, turning her head just in time to see a blue butterfly flutter past the bench where they sat.

“Why do you choose solitude over the company of others?” he asked, pulling away from Marla slightly. His hands held her shoulders loosely, seeming reluctant to give up the contact. “Forgive me if I assume too much, but denying oneself affection is a hard life to live. It seems an odd choice to make, for one so young as you.”

Marla looked down. “I suppose I’m just… tired of being disappointed,” she said, fiddling with her necklace. She looked back up at Regis. “I sort of gave up after a while, and I’ve just… existed ever since. It wasn’t really a choice I made, it’s hard to explain.” 

A pressure began to build in her head, creeping from the back of her skull to sit behind her eyes. She took a deep breath, and started again. “I stopped looking for company because it was too damaging to me, to keep feeling resentful that I was never anyone’s first choice, or I wasn't enough for someone to stay around, whether it was family, friends, or… a lover.” The last part was a whisper, as Marla thought of Lucas and willed herself not to cry. “I wasn’t completely alone, though,” she said, looking at the red feathers in her necklace. “I had Kasper.” 

“A friend?” Regis asked, looking down at her necklace as well. Marla nodded.

“Kasper is my bird,” she said. “We’ve been together almost my entire life. He was a gift from my great grandfather when I was really young.” 

“Birds make wonderful companions,” he said softly, pulling her closer again. “For the past several years now, a pair of ravens have made their nest in one of the trees by my crypt. Occasionally, they allow me to pet them, and it’s pleasantly satisfying that they’ve deemed I am not a threat.” One of his hands gently traced Marla’s spine as he spoke. “Sometimes they leave for a season or two, but they've always returned, and each time they do, I am reminded of how much I missed their company.” He paused, watching a bird land on one of the wooden fence posts that stood down the path.

“I imagine if you live for so long without something, you begin to forget what it was like after a while,” he said, “and it is only made apparent when you are once again faced with that thing, just how deeply you’ve missed it all along.” Regis looked down at Marla, to see that she had fallen asleep; her head lay on his chest. A smile came to his face, as he felt her steady heartbeat against him.

“It seems I’ve found another raven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to LovelyRita1967 for being the best editor, and jac_jones7 for helping me brainstorm when characters are bullying me <3


	5. Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, a walk in the moonlight gives way to talking about Marla’s past, and Regis begins to gain some insight into the scars she carries, both inside and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Regis. Please review, your words lift me above myself <3  
> I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do.  
> ~ Ro

Marla woke for what seemed like the umpteenth time in what felt like only two days, but she had lost track of time. She was laying on a forest-green chaise lounge in what appeared to be a sitting room just off the dining room. She sat up, and looked out the large window to her left. The sun was just beginning to set, and it was more beautiful than any she had seen before. Marla wondered if that was due to the lack of pollution in the air.

Regis sat in an armchair across from her, wearing a small pair of reading glasses on his nose. He looked up from the enormous book on his lap. “Feeling more rested now, I trust?” he asked her, a hint of a smile in his eyes. Marla blushed.

“I didn’t mean to make you carry me in,” she said, toying anxiously with the cuff of her sleeve.

Regis laughed. “It was no trouble,” he said, closing his book. He stood, and set the book on the arm of his chair, laying the glasses on top of it. “I had intended to wake you soon, at any rate. You haven’t eaten in days, and I’ve prepared something for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Marla said, meeting his eyes before quickly looking away. “Besides, I’ve just been so tired.”

“Somehow I doubt that Geralt will find that explanation sufficient, when he asks why I allowed you to starve to death,” Regis said wryly, offering her a hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Marla stretched her arms above her head and felt her shoulders pop. “Perhaps the promise of an evening stroll afterwards will entice you,” he proposed.

Surprised, Marla looked up at him. “Are there… monsters, or other scary things that come out at night here?” she asked, following him to the dining table. 

“I imagine there is little cause for concern, as I will likely be the most dangerous creature you will encounter so close to such a large city,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “Do we have a deal?”

“Okay,” she agreed, sitting in the offered chair. _"Make a deal with me, and I can make it so." _The words echoed in her mind. Marla remembered a blurry image of a man’s face; she couldn’t make out anything clearly but his eyes. What deal had she made with him?__

____

____

She turned her attention to the food in front of her. There was a small plate with what looked like roasted root vegetables, and a piece of some kind of meat. Even though she hadn’t felt hungry before, Marla was beginning to feel the effects of an empty stomach, especially with the scents of garlic, lemon, and oregano wafting up to her nose. She looked up at Regis, who was retreating to his chair. “I thought vampires don’t like garlic?” she asked, gesturing to the food.

Regis laughed. “It _is_ a bit more fragrant to me than it would be to you, yes,” he said, picking up his book, “but still pleasant in small amounts, just like other smells.” 

Marla surprised herself by eating all of the food in front of her. Regis, as it turned out, was a decent cook. She hadn’t had whatever type of meat it was before, and she hoped it hadn’t been a squirrel or something similar. It was beginning to get somewhat dark in the house, and Marla looked around for a sink, or somewhere to wash her plate and fork. Regis must have sensed she was finished; he whisked away her dishes before she could protest. 

“A few more meals, and perhaps your color will return,” he said, stepping back out of what she assumed was the kitchen.

Marla frowned. “I don’t look that pale, do I?” she asked. She got up, and pushed in her chair.

“For a human, your skin looks remarkably like mine, my dear,” he said, looking her up and down. His eyes looked different in the half-light, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly how.

“I believe I promised a walk in the moonlight,” he said, “but I would first like some certainty that you will be comfortable.” Regis walked past Marla, and rummaged through a chest by the door for a moment, then returned holding what appeared to be a soft blanket. “While I am indifferent to the evening chill, your present condition leaves you slightly more... delicate,” he said, offering it to her.

Marla took the blanket from his outstretched hand. She unfolded it to discover it was actually not a blanket at all, but instead some kind of garment, made of a rich, emerald-green crushed velvet. She struggled with searching for sleeves, or some notion of how to wear it for a moment, before looking to Regis for help. Some unknown expression crossed his face for a moment, as his hands undid a clasp that she had failed to see. He reached around her, fastening the clasp above her chest, and the length of the garment fell around her. It was a cloak.

Marla’s face flushed, and she looked away. One of her hands nervously fidgeted with her necklace, and the other ran across the cloak’s soft fabric. She felt him watching her, probably working out that she was a stranger to this world. She wondered how much Geralt had told him about her.

“This must belong to Dandelion,” Regis said, “another friend of Geralt’s. He visits quite often, and enjoys wearing the most garish clothing I have ever witnessed.” She looked up to see an amused grin on his face. “I struggle to imagine Geralt ever wearing it.” 

Marla discovered that the cloak had holes to put her arms through, as she followed Regis outside. He had been right: the night air was crisp and chilly, and she was happy to have something warm to wear. It smelled faintly of a sweet floral perfume, and… licorice? She couldn’t be sure what the second smell was, because there was a slight breeze, and it carried all kinds of smells. 

The landscape around them was faintly lit by the last fading light of the sun, as it descended behind the horizon, and the green of the trees and grass seemed ethereal to Marla. Everything seemed to have a richer color in this place, compared to the dull greys of concrete and buildings that she had usually seen around her home. Some ways off in the distance, she could see someone herding a flock of sheep.

“Where would you like to go?” Regis asked, offering his arm to her. Marla took it, and he rested his other hand on her arm. It struck her as incredibly charming and gentlemanly, and she couldn’t recall ever having been treated in such a way before.

“Anywhere is new to me, so it’s up to you, I suppose,” she said. She looked up at him, and it dawned on her: at certain angles, his eyes reflected light like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Marla vaguely remembered reading somewhere that it was because of some kind of reflective surface in their eyes that helped to increase their sensitivity to light, and improve their vision in the dark. _That’s so cool,_ she thought to herself. Regis looked down at her for a moment, then glanced away, as though he had wanted to say something but thought better of it.

They started down the path leading away from the house, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the chirping of crickets, and the soft rustle of the wind against the trees and long grass. Marla looked at her hand on Regis’ arm. The red mark was definitely glowing; there could be no mistaking it for a trick of the light or her tired eyes this time.

“Regis?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he answered, slowing his pace.

“Did Geralt tell you what happened to me?” Marla asked, looking up at him. They stopped, and Regis turned to her.

“He told me what little he knew of your injury, yes,” he said, regarding her thoughtfully. “That you were in a great deal of pain, and appeared to have lost a fair amount of blood, yet no wounds were found on you.” He looked down at the part of the mark that showed on her hand. “He also said that he had found signs that powerful magic had been used on you, but you remembered nothing.”

Marla took in a deep breath, and pulled up her sleeve to reveal more of the mark on her arm. “And what did he say about the man who brought me here? Gaunter O’Dimm?” she asked, looking at the fiery red of the marking against her pale skin. “Did Geralt say anything about me making a deal with him?”

“He said that O’Dimm had brought you to Corvo Bianco, and had given Marlene instructions that you were to be cared for,” Regis said, taking her wrist in his hand and turning it over. “He didn’t know why O’Dimm had done this. I understand Geralt wasn’t home at the time, and only heard about your arrival afterward. “ Regis traced the mark’s glowing red lines. His hands were ashy-pale, with long, elegant fingers, and Marla imagined he would probably make a wonderful pianist. “As far as a deal being made, Geralt had mentioned that you must have entered a contract with him, since you wear his mark.” 

“Do you know anything about him?” Marla asked. “Gaunter, I mean.”

“I’ve never met him,” Regis said, his eyes flicking back to hers. “I have heard things about him over the years, but one never really knows truth from fiction when hearing a rumor about someone like him. Geralt has dealt with him before, and would be able to provide better answers than I can, I’m afraid.” He gently closed her hand around the symbols on her palm.

They continued walking, until they reached a fork in the path by a large field. It had grown quite dark, and a bit more breezy. Marla was very grateful for the cloak. Without it, she would have had to ask to go back already, and she was enjoying being out of the house and awake. She almost bumped into Regis when he stopped. His eyes’ light reflection seemed more vibrant in the dark of the night, she noticed, looking up at him.

“Look up,” he said, gesturing to the sky with a smile.

Marla’s eyes followed his hand, and the sight took her breath away. It was a clear night, and the heavens were a blanket of dark sky, bejeweled with more stars than she had ever witnessed, some twinkling brighter than the others. It was the most magical thing she had ever seen, and she couldn’t take enough of it in. She craned her neck so far backwards trying to see it all that she almost fell over. Regis caught her by the waist, and pulled her over to a large stone that was set in the ground by the path. Marla slid down to a half-sitting, half-lying position against the stone, and looked back up at the sky.

“It’s so beautiful,” she marveled. She couldn’t find a single constellation that looked familiar. Regis sat beside her, gazing up at the stars as well.

“The stars above Toussaint are quite a sight to behold,” he said, “It’s one of my favorite views when I make the journey to visit.”

“I’ve never seen so many stars before,” she said. “Where I’m from, you have to go out away from the city, to a special park just so see maybe half as many. I went camping there once with Lu-” Marla stopped herself; thinking about Lucas was painful. She brought her knees up to her chest and held them tightly. 

“A friend of yours?” Regis asked, turning to her.

“I- well… not anymore,” she said sadly. “Lucas was… we were going to get married, a little over a year ago. It’s depressing, you wouldn’t be interested,” she said dismissively.

“Sad stories are often the most interesting,” he said, “but I understand if this tale is not one you are ready to tell.” 

“No, it’s fine, it’s just… I haven’t really told it before,” Marla said, looking down at her hands. “We were engaged, and he lived with me. It was a few months before the wedding, and Lucas just… disappeared one day. I came home from work, and he was… gone.” Tears came to her eyes, and she felt the familiar ache that crept through her veins. This was a deep hurt that she avoided thinking about whenever possible. She swallowed the burning lump in the back of her throat. “All of his things were gone, too. No note, no call to say where he went… nothing. Weeks, then months went by, and he still hadn’t contacted me.” Marla twirled the round pendant of her necklace anxiously. “I finally found out from his mother that he had eloped with one of my friends, and they were expecting a baby,” she said shakily, clearing her throat to cover her cracking voice. “He never said goodbye to me,” she whispered. “I spent so long wondering what I had done to make him leave, and he never said goodbye.” 

The tears fell from her eyes, and she buried her face against her knees. Marla couldn’t bear for Regis to see her cry. She didn’t want to cry at all; she wanted to push the feelings back into the hole they had come from, and keep enjoying the night with him. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.” She felt Regis’ hand curl around hers.

“Marla,” his voice said softly. She slowly turned her head to face him. Her hair was matting to her wet cheek, but she couldn’t bring herself to move it. It was all she could do just to exist through the anguish that had finally caught up with her. Regis’ face was kind, and she could see the compassion there. “The fault that drove this wretch to cast you aside lies with him,” he said firmly. “Please understand that searching for it in yourself will only serve to cause you more pain.”

“I must’ve done something,” Marla insisted. Her voice sounded like a choked whisper, and she felt pathetic. “Why else would he leave without saying anything?”

“Because he knew the consequences of his actions, and had no intention of facing them,” Regis said, “He was a fool and a coward, and is likely still both.” 

His eyes looked almost normal at this angle; there were still reflective half-moons that seemed an almost eerie green-blue in the dark, but the black was there, too, she noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat again. “We just met the other day, and you must think I’m…” she cut herself off with another sob, letting her knees fall as she held her face in her hands. Regis pulled Marla into his arms, and she didn’t fight him. 

“I think,” he said, smoothing her hair down her back, “that you are a person who has hidden their suffering for a long time. Like many things, pain often finds its way to the surface in moments of uncertainty or stress, and you have been under both since you found yourself in our world, I imagine. At times, we all need reminding that to grieve a loss is natural; it would be quite heartless of me to think less of you for such a thing.” 

His hand slipped under her hair, and cradled her head against him. “You will have to forgive me,” he said, gently tracing the curve of her skull. “Much like you, I have not been quite so… familiar with anyone in some time, and I hope I’ve not been too forward.”

“If this is forward, you’ve been backward for too long,” Marla said with a sniffle, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “You give the best hugs, Regis.” She looked up at him, leaning her head into his hand. “Thank you for… being here, and holding me and letting me cry,” she whispered, forcing her lips into a small smile.

“Intimacy requires no gratitude; it is its own reward,” he said, resting his arm around her waist. ”You are welcome to seek such comforts from me whenever you choose.” 

A genuine smile lit Marla’s face, and she blushed. 

“It’s late,” Regis said, gazing back up at the sky. “Shall we head back?”

“Can we stay just a little longer?” she asked. “I feel like I didn’t get to enjoy the stars enough.”

He laughed. “The stars will be the same tomorrow, and I imagine you will need to sleep sometime before morning,” he said. There was a hint of a smile in his eyes, and Marla was amazed that she could notice such a thing in the dark, and through the reflectiveness of his gaze.

“All I do anymore is sleep,” she grumbled. “I’m tired of being tired. I’d rather stay out longer, and feel like I actually did something.”

“What a pity,” Regis said. His lips curled upward ever so slightly. “I had been looking forward to watching you experience your first sunrise in Toussaint, but it seems I will be watching it alone… unless of course you’d like to reconsider?” he asked. The question was half-taunt, half-tease, and she knew he had her.

“All right,” Marla said, “we can go back now. Promise you’ll wake me up in time to watch?”

Regis stood, and offered her his hand. “Of course,” he replied, pulling her to her feet. 

The moon shone brightly overhead, and as they began making their way back towards Corvo Bianco, Marla’s hand slipped into Regis’ beside her. She saw him smile, and felt his fingers lace with hers. It felt nice, having a connection with someone. He had been so _understanding,_ and she felt more at peace than she had in a long time.

“You’ve been in love before, haven’t you?” she asked. He seemed to stiffen at her question.

“I have,” he said softly, “and perhaps I will tell you about it someday, but that particular wound for me is still too fresh.” 

Marla looked down. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to pry.” Regis said nothing, but his hand tightened on hers ever so slightly.

When they reached the top of the hill where the house sat, Marla could see the warm light shining from the window. Privately, she was a little glad to be heading for bed; she was beginning to feel tired, despite her earlier words to the contrary. She pulled her hand away, and started toward the house when Regis caught her wrist. She looked back at him. He had stopped and was looking at the house with narrowed eyes.

“What’s wro-” she began to ask, when a hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Regis no longer stood where she looked; he had moved to her faster than she could perceive.

“Someone’s here,” he whispered in her ear, removing his hand from her. “Geralt could not have reached his destination yet, much less returned so soon.”

“But how do you know someone’s here?” she whispered. The house looked the same to her. Regis looked down at her. There was an urgent look in his eyes that scared her.

“Marla, did you watch me light any lamps before we departed?” he asked seriously. 

Before she could respond, she was struck with a sharp, burning sensation across her left side. Regis looked down at her hand, then at the house. “Stay behind me,” he implored, grabbing her hand. Her eyes widened as she watched the fingers on his other hand elongate into sharp-looking claws that reminded her strongly of Freddy Kreuger’s glove. Marla imagined the whole world could hear her heart’s rapid beating as they carefully approached the house.

Regis opened the door a few inches, and peered inside. Marla heard a voice call out to them: “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I merely came to chat.” 

_That voice._

Regis’ claws retracted. He opened the door completely, and gestured for her to enter. Marla stepped into the house, and saw a man sitting at the table in front of her, carving a pumpkin. His head was neatly shaved, with black hair beginning to grow back. He appeared too ordinary. Looking at him, she had the distinct impression that something was not quite as it seemed, as though there was some hidden distortion skirting that delicate line between optical illusion and paranormal. He looked up, and the moment his eyes met hers, Marla remembered. 

_Those eyes..._

“Good evening, Marla,” he said, setting down his carving knife. “I assume I need no introduction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to LovelyRita1967 for editing, and catching me using the same phrases over and over and over <3 and jac_jones7 for helping me find the right words to tell Marla's story. Also, a huge thanks to morifantra for special help and reassurance about canon for certain characters. Lastly, a shoutout to my partner for telepathically knowing what I needed to convey for a certain moment, and helping me find the words to do so. <3 I love you all.


	6. Speak No Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for; Once uttered aloud, such a wish cannot be taken back, nor can you know upon whose ears it may have fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews breathe life into me, and make me want to continue writing.

_Dear Marla,_

_I can only think of so many ways to say I’m sorry. I doubt you’ll ever forgive me, and I know I don’t deserve it. I miss you, and I think about you every day. If Gina wasn’t pregnant, I would try to make things right with you, but you know how that is. I hope that you_

Gina crumpled the half-finished letter in her hand. She threw it into the shoebox that sat on the bed beside her. It had been nearly six months now, since Lucas had moved in with her. After their wedding a few weeks ago, she had discovered her pregnancy, and they had begun to prepare the house for their new arrival. The box of letters from Marla had been discovered while cleaning out a closet in the room they were getting ready for the baby, and Gina was engulfed by a whirlwind of emotions at the sudden revelation that Lucas was apparently not quite over his previous love interest. 

“What’s it going to take for this to be over?” she asked the letter box angrily. Blinking away the tears that had come to her eyes, she got up, and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of their bedroom. The diamond ring on her finger sparkled in the sunlight streaming in from the windows, as she ran her hand over the bump in her midsection.

“I’d sell my fucking soul for her to be out of our lives before the baby’s born,” she sighed, running a hand through her long, red hair. Gina did a double-take at the mirror. For a split second, it had looked like a man was watching her in the reflection, but when she looked behind her, no one was there. She looked back at the mirror, and saw only her own reflection looking back at her. “Weird,” she whispered.

Gina turned back to the bed, and as she picked up the box of letters, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. “Ugh,” she sighed, massaging her scalp with her free hand, “I hate these headaches. Can’t wait until you come out, and this weird body crap is over.” She patted her stomach, and carried the box with her into the kitchen, where she dropped it in the trash. 

“Goodbye Marla,” she said, “and good riddance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to LovelyRita1967 for looking this over for me, even though I added some after the fact.


	7. I Put A Spell On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting the man responsible for saving her life, the mysterious Gaunter O’Dimm, Marla is finally able to ask the questions she has been pondering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to depression reasons, this chapter took longer to write. Hopefully the next several won't be as long, although I will be taking a couple of days to work on a collab piece to go with LovelyRita1967 's piece, "a due"; together" https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447165
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and your comments are the wind in my sails. <3  
> ~ Ro

Marla stared at the man sitting before her. His dark eyes seemed to hold her fixed to a single point, unable to look away or breathe. “You’re Gaunter O’Dimm,” she said.

“In the flesh,” he replied, the corners of his lips curling upward. 

There was something about his eyes that put a pressure in her chest and made her acutely aware of her own heartbeat in her ears. The mark he had left on her tingled; an electrifying caress that ran across her shoulder, down her arm, and into her hand. The air between them seemed to almost pulse with a nameless feeling; one that was so tangible it felt as though she could taste it.

Gaunter turned his eyes back to the pumpkin he was carving, and whatever spell there had been between them was broken.

Marla’s head reeled with the whirlwind of feelings and questions that flooded back into her.

“Who are you?” she asked him pointedly. “How did I get here, to this… this place? What happened to me? How did you find me? And how can you watch me through a mirror?” Everything poured out at once, and she couldn’t stop the words if she tried. 

Gaunter regarded her silently, folding his fingers together and bringing his index fingers to rest against his lips. 

“Where have you been? And why did you leave me here?” Marla stopped to catch her breath. She looked away from Gaunter, and the edges of things blurred in her vision, shimmering like the space above a hot sheet of glass in the sun. The room spun around her, and her heart beat in her throat. Looking down at her hands, Marla noticed that she was trembling.

 _What are you doing to me?_ she thought at him. 

“I doubt taking a fall would benefit your condition. Perhaps you should sit,” Gaunter said. His voice was quiet, but held an odd persuasive note. He gestured to the chair closest to her, directly across the narrow table from him. She sank into it, pulling the cloak tightly around herself. She wasn’t cold, but it soothed her anxiety, at least a little. Underneath it, her fingers clasped her necklace as though it were the anchor holding her to this plane of existence.

“So many questions…” he said thoughtfully. He poured two goblets of water from the pitcher sitting beside him on the table. “Where to begin, if not at the beginning? But where does our tale begin?” He held out one of the glasses to Marla. As she reached out and took it from him, their fingers touched for the briefest of moments, and she felt that electric shock again.

Gaunter turned his full attention to her. “What do you remember?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his legs.

Marla leaned her elbows on the table, and looked down at her hands. She had tried so desperately to remember what happened, how she got here, or anything, but to no avail. “I… I remember a field,” she said, following the grain of the wooden tabletop with her fingertips. “I was laying down, I think. And my head hurt more than anything.”

Gaunter nodded, “Go on.”

She took a sip of water from her glass and watched the liquid settle when she set the glass down. “I remember you, but just your voice… and your eyes,” she said, looking back up at him. The electric feeling lingered faintly on her skin, a half-pleasant buzz - just enough to remind her of its presence. “You told me I was dying.” Marla rested her forehead on her hand. She could vaguely hear the sound of an owl hooting from one of the trees just outside the house. “But that’s all I remember.”

“How is it that you happened upon her in this field?” Regis asked, startling Marla. He had seated himself at the end of the table between them. Gaunter turned to him, the lantern’s light glinting on his shaved scalp as he moved. 

“If we are speaking candidly, I must clarify,” he countered. “It would be more accurate to say that I was happened upon, as I sat enjoying the morning.” Gaunter regarded Regis thoughtfully. 

“Are you saying that a dying woman appeared before you, and you haven’t the faintest idea of how that may have happened?” Regis asked. The light reflected from his black eyes the way it would for anyone, but it looked magical to Marla all the same. “Do you not find it odd?”

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Gaunter said. “You know my name, but I have not been given yours.” He held a hand out to Regis in greeting, flashing a smile that reminded Marla of a salesman intent on making a commission. Had he not seemed so serious in his tone and conversation, she would have found the sight incredibly comical.

“Indeed, this is our first meeting,” the vampire said, folding his hands gracefully on the table in front of him. “You may call me Regis.”

Gaunter pulled back his hand. He had an odd look in his eye, as the smile faded from his face. He turned back to Marla. “What do you remember before our last meeting?” he asked. “Where were you then?”

Marla frowned. Where had she been? “I was… on my way to the store I think,” she said, trying desperately to remember. “I was walking, then… then nothing.” She looked at Gaunter. “What happened to me?”

“One can only guess,” he replied, reaching across the table and taking her hand. The mark glowed an almost impossibly bright red.

Marla looked down at her hand. “Why did you leave this marking on me?” she asked, looking back at Gaunter. “What deal did I make with you?”

The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and his finger followed the circle at the center of the mark on her palm. “All powerful magic leaves a trace,” he said. “The greater the magic, the greater its evidence will be.” His eyes met hers sharply, and she was once again transfixed. “When a spell is cast from one person onto another, a bond is created between the spell’s caster and its subject. A red marking is the signature that my magic leaves behind.”

“Will I ever be able to go home?” Marla asked. Tears came to her eyes. She had expected him to have the answers to her questions, or to at least be able to provide some sort of explanation for what had happened, or how she got there. She missed Kasper, and hoped desperately that someone was taking care of him while she had been gone.

“It’s difficult to say,” Gaunter mused. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps it might be best to wait a while longer, and give you a chance to recover from your injury.”

“But what injury did I have?” Marla pressed. “How did you save my life? You said I was dying.”

“I have no desire to frighten you,” he responded. “If you were to wait-”

“I want you to tell me,” Marla insisted, interrupting him. “Please, I have a right to know!”

Gaunter gazed at her for a moment, then looked down at her hand. “Your skull had been crushed. Collapsed inward from the back,” he said, tracing the marking in her palm with his thumb. “I made it whole again, but I imagine it will still take some time for you to experience no effects of such a thing. It is indeed a marvel, given such a grievous wound, that you were even alive when you appeared before me.”

Marla’s other hand went unconsciously to the back of her head. It felt normal to her, aside from the random bursts of pain. Crushed. The thought turned her stomach and made her dizzy. 

“Am I... dead?” she whispered, dazed as she looked at him with wide eyes. “Is this what happens afterwards? Just a huge mystery of discovering how and when I died?”

Gaunter laughed, and shook his head. “You are very much alive, my dear,” he said. 

“This is… this is too much,” Marla murmured. She was already tired, and his touch was making her feel lightheaded. Her mind was spinning with what he had told her: a magical bond, a return from the brink of death, and possibly, probably… no way home. The tears spilled from her eyes as she again thought about Kasper. How long had it been since she came here, wherever “here” was? She pulled her hand from Gaunter’s and leaned her face on her hands.

“I don’t know where I am, or how long I’ve been here,” she said miserably, to no one in particular. “Kasper is going to starve to death without me. No one has a key to my apartment, and no one besides him will even notice I’m gone.” The last part was a whisper, and she sobbed at the truth of it.

“Who is Kasper?” she heard Gaunter ask.

“Her bird companion,” Regis said. She heard him get up, and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Marla,” he said gently, “would you like to lie down and rest?”

“I just want to go home,” Marla said into her hands. She knew Regis and Gaunter were both looking at her, pitying her, thinking she was pathetic, and she couldn’t bear to see it . She missed feeling safe in her apartment, knowing where she was, and Kasper… her heart was broken. She was sick, thinking of what would happen to him.

Regis’ arm went around her back. “Up, my darling,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “The morning will bring more light to all this darkness.” He turned to Gaunter. “Perhaps we might resume this conversation another day?”

Gaunter stood, and slowly made his way around the table. “Until we meet again,” he said softly, before opening the door and disappearing into the night. 

The pumpkin on the table glowed faintly from the inside. Regis reached out and half-turned it, to reveal the design Gaunter had carved into the flesh of the gourd: a portrait of Marla, her face lit with a bright smile. It was definitely an unexpected sight. He looked down at the shaking woman in his arms. “Come,” he said. “Sleep will bring at least a little peace.”

Marla allowed Regis to guide her back upstairs. The bedroom was dark, illuminated only by the stars that shone through the window. She sank onto the bed, looking down at her hands. Regis surprised her by moving the pillows to the foot of the bed.

“It’s hardly the same view, but I thought you might enjoy the stars as you fall asleep,” he said, opening the window. 

Marla slid her boots off, and pulled the cloak from her shoulders, not bothering with the clasp. She slipped her legs under the covers, and pulled them up to her chest. 

“Please don’t leave,” she implored him. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Regis turned to her. “Then I shall stay,” he said, seating himself on the edge of the bed beside her. 

Marla looked up at him. “What if… Regis, what if I can never go home?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “What if I died, and all that’s left is this… place, this… whatever this is?”

He studied her face for a moment, his eyes once again reflective in the dark. “I think,” he said slowly, looking away, out the window at the stars, “if that were the case, I would be glad to introduce you to the wonders this world has to offer, and help you to make it your home.” He looked back at her with a smile. “I can think of several fates worse than a new beginning.”

Marla hugged her legs closer. “I know it could be worse. I’m sorry, just… my whole life is gone. Everything I learned and studied was for nothing. I worked my whole life, long hard days, at a job that is useless here. I have nothing to show for it, and no one to even miss me or care that I’m gone.” Her face felt hot, and she felt the familiar ache creeping up her throat. 

Regis put an arm around Marla, and pulled her close. “Forgive my curiosity,” he said softly, “but if that were true, why does the inability to return to such a life cause such grief?”

Half of her face was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window as she turned to face him. Marla opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, something flew in the open window, and landed on her knee. It was a grey bird with white eyes, and a bright red tail. Marla’s eyes widened, and she fell back against Regis’ arm in shock. She reached a shaking hand out to softly stroke the bird’s feathers, and it looked up at her.

“Kasper...” It was a breathless whisper. She looked up at Regis, and her face lit up with the widest, brightest smile. The way the moonlight fell on her face, and the curve of her lips… it was exactly as Gaunter O’Dimm had carved into the pumpkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to LovelyRita1967 for helping me edit, jac_jones7 for ideas and brainstorming, and to my loving partner who I forced to read it about six times and give me thoughts. A just reward for pestering me about it every day when they get home from work.  
> I love you all <3


	8. The Tale Of The Devil And The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt returns from his journey, and recounts for Marla and Regis a cautionary tale of his dealings with Master Mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, once again I am sorry for how long this took. Life has been a bit of a challenge lately, and I appreciate anyone who has waited for me. A huge thank you to LovelyRita1967 for all your help with this <3 I love you to death  
> Please leave a review <3 I can't tell you how much reviews mean to me; your words lift me above myself.

Marla awoke to the sound of raised voices, or rather, raised voice singular. It was still dark, and she wondered how much time had passed. The window was now closed, and Kasper was perched on the mirror by the bedside, asleep with his head tucked into his back feathers. 

It seemed Geralt had returned, and was very unhappy about something from the way he was shouting, presumably at Regis. Marla got up, and peeled the top blanket from the bed to wrap around herself. She quietly made her way through the open bedroom door, and down the stairs, until she could hear the conversation more clearly.

“He never admitted to making a deal with her, instead cited that the mark was simply his magic’s signature.” Regis’ voice was calm and unruffled.

Geralt scoffed. "He made a deal with her. He marks people so he can find them… so they can never get out of giving him what they owe. Why else would he save her life? I doubt it was because he was feeling altruistic that day.”

“Can’t a good deed stand on its own merits?”

“From Gaunter O’Dimm? No! From anyone else, yes, but not from that creepy, evil bastard. Anything nice he’s ever done for anyone, there’s been an ulterior motive.”

“Why hide it though? If his only interest is in collecting debts, why then would he withhold what the deal entailed, or indeed that one was struck?”

There was a pause, and a long sigh from Geralt. 

“That part I don’t know. But I also don’t know why, after I warned you about him, you sat down and had a chat with him. I can’t believe you sometimes, Regis.”

“What would you have me do, Geralt?” The vampire’s voice was soft, yet held an air of reserved authority. “You had left, and I know precious little of this… being, whomever he may be. My instruction was to look after Marla, and ensure her safety. He assured me he meant no harm before we entered. Although, given what you’ve told me about the marking, and what it implies, there is little I could have done to protect her from him, if his intention had been to harm her.”

“Precious little, huh?” Geralt’s voice had a bemused, taunting tone. Marla heard heavy footsteps, and then rustling, and then a loud noise of something heavy being slammed onto the table. 

“You love researching things to death, so give this a read.”

“And what might ‘this’ be?” Regis sounded skeptical.

“What’s it look like?” Geralt asked mockingly. “It’s a book. A journal, written by one Premethine Shakeslock, professor at Oxenfurt University, and established authority on black magic and all things evil and occult.”

“I assume his work is somehow related to the subject at hand?”

Marla peeked around the corner to see Geralt nod.

“Shakeslock spent years researching O’Dimm, or ‘Master Mirror,’ as he calls himself,” Geralt said, crossing his arms. “His actions and deals are mentioned in manuscripts that date back centuries or more, as far as the professor was able to research.”

“Fascinating,” Regis murmured, running his hand over the binding of the book. “Perhaps I’ve experienced some of the events influenced by this Master Mirror, albeit unknowingly. I should very much like to discuss the professor’s findings with him during my next visit to Oxenfurt”

Geralt stiffened. “You might run into a little trouble with that, considering O’Dimm killed him.”

Regis looked back up at Geralt. “Are you certain? How did you come to know of it, then?”

Geralt pulled out a chair at the table. “It’s a long story, and I only want to tell it once,” he said, turning to look directly at Marla where she stood around the corner, barely looking into the room. “So you had better come and hear it too, Marla.”

Color rose to Marla’s face. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to-” she stammered, holding the blanket tightly around her. Geralt cut her off with a raised hand.

“Come sit down and hear the story,” he said. His tone was gruff, but kind. 

Marla made her way to the table, and sank into the chair Geralt offered her. He made a “hmm” noise, as he pushed her chair toward the table, then disappeared into the kitchen. 

“Feeling better this morning?” Regis asked, looking her over as he seated himself in the chair across from her. “Where is your feathery friend?”

Marla nodded. “Much better, thank you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table, and letting go of the blanket. “Kasper is still asleep. He usually sleeps for around ten hours per night.” She smiled. She was so happy and relieved that Kasper was safe with her now.

“You will have to educate me about the mannerisms and care needed for one of his species,” Regis said, crossing one leg over the other and sitting back in his chair. “I’ve never seen a bird like him before.”

“Of course! Whenever you’d like,” Marla agreed excitedly. She loved talking about birds, and rarely got the opportunity to discuss the subject with someone who was interested.

Geralt returned with three steaming mugs of something, and set one down in front of her, and handed one to Regis, clinking his own mug with each of theirs in turn. “Here’s to being alive,” he said, a half grin on his face.

Marla looked at the liquid in the cup. It smelled like an herbal tea, but was an odd, rusty-orange color. Geralt took a hearty swig of the beverage and seemed to enjoy it, so she tried a small sip. It tasted like mulled cider and grapes combined, with a hint of cinnamon; a very pleasant combination that seemed to spread warmth all the way to her toes. She sighed with the comfort of it, and relaxed, adjusting to sit cross-legged on the chair.

“So,” Geralt began, “I met the man you know as Gaunter O’Dimm for the first time a few years ago, in a tavern in the town of White Orchard, in Temeria.” He paused, turning to Regis. “Vesemir and I stopped there, when we were tracking Yennefer, before the ordeal with the Wild Hunt.”

That made no sense to Marla, but Regis seemed to understand. He nodded, but said nothing.

“He was posing as a merchant, referring to himself as a ‘wandering vagrant,’ if I recall correctly,” Geralt continued, running his thumb across the lip of his mug. “Even then, I noticed that he seemed to know far more than he let on. He offered information as to which way Yen had gone, which wasn’t exactly helpful, since the Nilfgaardians he pointed me to had no information either, and Yen ended up finding me.” 

He sounded indignant to Marla. She pulled the blanket around herself again. The house was slightly cold, and she was beginning to feel it. She took another sip of her hot drink, as Geralt went on with his story.

“The next time I saw him, I was in a little bit of a predicament. I’d taken a contract for a giant toad monster in the Oxenfurt sewers. The man who hired me, a nobleman by the name of Olgierd von Everec, failed to mention that the toad was actually an Olfieri prince who he had fucking cursed to be a giant toad monster. After I killed him, the toad changed back to his human form, and I was arrested and thrown onto a prison ship bound for Olfier to hang for the crime. Didn’t find out that part about the set up till afterwards, though.” 

Geralt set down his drink, and began unfastening the armor he was wearing. Marla couldn’t help but think that the leather and chainmail looked uncomfortable. 

“The Olfieri soldiers had knocked me out when they took me captive, so imagine my surprise waking up on their ship, in a cell. They’d put me next to some petty thief, who explained the situation. None of the Olfieri spoke Common, so I couldn’t exactly plead my case.” Geralt paused, struggling with his shoulder-piece. 

“You weren’t going to at least get a trial or anything?” Marla asked, looking at him wide-eyed. “They were just going to hang you?”

Geralt made a small snorting noise. “The trial is just them officially saying they’re hanging you. They already have the gallows ready at any ‘trial’ in Olfier.” He continued digging at his shoulder with his opposite hand.

“Even over a misunderstanding?” She was shocked by the injustice.

“Yeah,” Geralt said shortly, clearly getting frustrated at his armor.

“If you consider the Olfieri point of view, he had just killed their prince,” Regis offered pragmatically.

“Look, I already said I didn’t know it was a human, prince or not,” Geralt retorted irritably. He looked up, his cat eyes focusing on Marla. “C’mere and help me with this, would you? Your hands are smaller than mine.” He gestured to the small opening between his chest and shoulder armor sections. “Strap slipped underneath. If you could pull it out, I’d appreciate it.”

Marla got up, and the blanket slid from her shoulders onto the chair as she approached Geralt’s seat. Her hand fit easily between the two armor pieces, and she pulled the small leather strap out, laying it across the top of his chest piece. 

“Thanks,” he nodded to her. “Those can be hell to get out.” He wrenched the armor off his shoulder, and set it down on the table. He seemed to have no trouble with the other side, so Marla sat back down, wrapping the blanket around herself once again. She bundled her bare feet into the blanket, wishing she had one of her pairs of fuzzy socks.

“Geralt.” The name fell from Regis’ lips with a pressured insistence, and Geralt looked up, startled. “Perhaps you could light a fire.” The vampire gestured to Marla, his pointed fingernails glinting in the light of the mirrored sconces on the walls. 

The witcher glanced at her, then nodded, bringing his hands to his knees as he stood. He took a few logs from a wood-rack that sat by the wall, and stacked them in the fireplace. Marla gasped when a stream of fire erupted from Geralt’s hand into the woodpile, catching the logs immediately. He looked back at her, a wolfish grin lighting his face. 

“Witcher magic,” he explained. “It’ll be warmer in here soon.”

“I… you didn’t have to go to the trouble, I would’ve been okay,” Marla said, uncomfortably twisting a lock of hair around her finger as the color rose to her face. 

“Your shivering is plain to see, and you witnessed how little ‘trouble’ it was.” Regis said evenly.

Marla reddened even more. “I’m okay,” she repeated stubbornly.

Geralt laughed, and shook his head. “I’d give up now, if I were you. The harder you resist Regis mothering you, the more he enjoys it. I think it’s honestly the most sinister thing about him.” He pulled off the other shoulder piece the rest of the way, dropping it on the table with its mate. 

Regis said nothing, but Marla thought she saw the hint of a mischievous smile in his black eyes as the vampire turned to Geralt. 

“What happened aboard the ship?” he asked. “Obviously you never made it to Olfier.”

“No,” Geralt said, grabbing his mug and taking a long drink before continuing his story. “I was sitting in the cell trying to plan any kind of escape from what can only be described as a fucked situation, when who should appear out of nowhere but Gaunter O’Dimm, offering his help in exchange for a favor.” He set down the cup, and began unlacing the sides of his chest armor.

“A favor?” Marla asked, watching the firelight flickering across the metal rings of his armor.

Geralt nodded. “He didn’t tell me what it was, but I had no other choice the way I saw it, so I agreed. He left a brand on my face, his mark, to ‘show that we were associates.’ The same one that’s on your hand,” he said, gesturing to her.

She looked down, opening her hand to see the glowing markings in her palm. 

“He broke a wooden spoon in half, and told me to meet him at the crossroads in Yantra just outside Novigrad when it was all over, to repay my debt. He disappeared, and the ship was destroyed in the storm he conjured. I managed to escape in the aftermath.”

“He CONJURED a STORM?” Marla stared at Geralt in disbelief. He nodded. “How can someone just make something like that happen?” she asked incredulously.

“In much the same way that he was able to bring you back from the brink of certain death, I would imagine,” Regis said, gazing at her thoughtfully. “Would it be bold of me to presume that before coming here, you had never seen or otherwise experienced magic?”

“Yes,” Marla said, then shook her head. “I mean, no, it wouldn’t be bold. That’s how it was. Where I’m from... there’s no such thing as magic, at least that I know of.” 

Geralt smirked at her, his cat eyes seeming to glow in the firelight. “I’ll bet this is an enlightening experience then.”

She eyed the steaming liquid in her cup. “What happened then?” she asked, looking back up at him. “After you escaped, that is.”

“After that, I met up with a friend, who pointed me in the direction of the dearly departed Professor Shakeslock,” Geralt said, turning to unlace the other side of his armor. “In giving me the book, he also warned me not to look into O’Dimm’s identity. Professor said he’d dug a little too deep, and caught O’Dimm’s attention. O’Dimm met with Shakeslock, and drew a ‘circle of protection’ for him, told him it would keep him safe as long as he stayed inside it.” Geralt looked up at Marla sharply. 

“What he didn’t say, was that he had set a demon on Shakeslock’s house, to kill him if he did leave the circle. He slipped on a bottle, and fell outside the circle and was killed.”

Marla was horrified. She stared down at the glowing red mark on her hand. “That’s… awful,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geralt nodded. “I met up with O’Dimm at the crossroads like we agreed, and he spun me a tale about a wicked man who wouldn’t pay his debts, and had done all manner of evil things. Turns out, it was the same lout who’d tricked me into that mess in the first place: Olgierd von Everec.” He paused, and took a drink from his mug, finishing off the beverage. He wiped his lips on his sleeve, then continued. “Now, while I had planned on telling O’Dimm to go plough himself, I was still furious with Olgierd for his part in all this, so I decided to go along with the plan. O’Dimm wouldn’t say how much von Everec owed him, just that in order to collect on this debt, he now had to fulfill three wishes of Olgierd’s through a proxy - me.”

Marla leaned her elbows on the table, propping her head up with her hands. “Three wishes? Like a genie?” she asked.

“A D’jinn? Sort of,” Geralt replied, pulling off his arm guards and dropping them on the table with the shoulder pieces.

“Why a proxy?” Regis asked, turning in his seat to face the witcher. “Why could Gaunter not simply grant these wishes himself?”

Geralt shrugged. “It was part of the deal they had made. It didn’t make sense to me either, at the time, but I’ll get to that. I caught up with Olgierd, and O’Dimm dropped in while we were chatting. That was when I found out that he had cursed the Olfieri prince out of jealousy, because the prince was the one that Olgierd’s wife, Iris, had been promised to instead of him. O’Dimm laid out that I would be his proxy in granting Olgierd’s wishes, at which point von Everec got irritated and sent him away, saying he’d only deal with me if that was the case.” 

He paused, struggling with his armor for a moment. He tugged the chest piece over his head, pulling his shirt with it. He tossed the whole pile on a bench by the armor displays, and stretched out his shoulders and back. Geralt was incredibly muscular for someone who didn’t have the huge frame of a body-builder, but what Marla noticed first was that he was covered in scars, many of them dipping deep into his skin. She looked a bit longer than a moment, and quickly glanced up to his face. Geralt was smirking at her. 

“I- I’m sorry,” she stammered, looking away. “I didn’t mean to stare, I just-”

“Haven’t seen this many scars on a person?” he finished for her. “It’s all right, everyone stares. I’m sure you want to ask about how I got them, but I’m tired, so it will have to be a story for another time.” He dropped back down into his chair, and leaned back, crossing his arms. 

“Von Everec told me he wasn’t going to make my job easy, and that he was going to make the three wishes impossible to fulfil. He gave me two tasks, saying to return when I completed them, and he would give me the third request. The first was to bring him the house of the man who’d bought Olgierd’s debts and driven his family to poverty. The second was to find his brother Vlodimir, and show him the time of his life. Sounds simple enough, right?”

Marla wasn’t sure if his question had been rhetorical. “How do you bring someone a house?” she asked, wondering if she had missed something, and if it was meant as a riddle.

Geralt laughed. “See, that’s what I thought, too,” he gestured towards her with his index finger. “I thought that was going to be the harder thing of the two, but when I was leaving, O’Dimm approached me again. He said the house would be fairly easy, and what I should worry about was the brother, Vlodimir.” Geralt leaned his elbows on the table and rolled his eyes. 

“‘What Olgierd had CONVENIENTLY forgotten to mention was that Vlodimir had been dead for years.”

Regis stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “However did you manage to show a dead man the time of his life?” he asked, looking at Geralt. “O’Dimm was able to offer some direction, I take it?”

Geralt nodded. “He said I’d need to perform a blood ritual, and gave me a vial of the brother’s blood to use. No idea where he got it from, but it worked. I did the ritual, and Vlodimir von Everec possessed my body for a day. We met up with a friend of mine, Shani, who Vlodimir immediately took a shine to. Which is incredibly ironic, given what she told me yesterday,” he noted, smirking down at the table. 

“Anyway, Vlodimir had a great time causing a ruckus at Shani’s friend’s wedding, and I have to give him credit, he seemed like an alright fellow. He WAS trying to lay Shani the whole night, but she seemed to take it as a compliment. O’Dimm showed up at the end of the evening and had to banish him from my body, as Vlodimir didn’t want to give up control. Can’t say I blame him, though. Who wants to go back to a crypt after having a night away?”

Regis cleared his throat rather loudly. “Perhaps you might refrain from passing judgement on where one might keep one’s home?” He gave Geralt a pointed look.

Geralt raised his hands in concession. “You know what I meant, and it wasn’t a jab at you,” he said. “After that, I went off to get the house of a man called Maximilian Borsodi. O’Dimm had told me I’d find him at an auction house in Oxenfurt. To make a long story somewhat shorter, I had to buy a lot of things I didn’t actually want from the auction house to get the Borsodi's attention, and after a squabble which involved Borsodi’s sons fighting to the death, I was able to get the house, which was actually the box that contained Max Borsodi’s will. He’d been dead some time, as well.”

“The house… was a box?” Marla asked. She was confused. “Why did Olgierd want a box that badly?”

“He didn’t want the box,” Geralt replied, turning to her. “He wanted to ruin the Borsodi name. He somehow knew that Max Borsodi had left everything to his son Ewald, leaving his other son, Horst, out of the will. Horst was arguably a terrible person, but given what became of the matter, I’d say Ewald was no better. I can only imagine how their father must’ve been.” Geralt shook his head, and looked at the fire.

“But how would that ruin the family name?” Marla pressed.

“Horst didn’t want the will brought to light, since he would essentially be forced out of his father’s house. And Ewald wasn’t keen to bring it up, either, because he was afraid of Horst and his men. So when I came asking about it, you can imagine how that stirred things up.”

Marla nodded, leaning closer and resting her elbows on the table. Geralt’s tale had her on the edge of her seat.

“I did everything I could to keep them from killing each other, or me. But in the end, Ewald killed Horst, even after he had agreed to leave the country and never speak of their father’s will again. I almost had to fight Ewald. He had refused to give me the house, until I made it clear that the box was all I was interested in, and he could keep his father’s accursed will.”

He paused, turning to Regis. “Remind me never to have sons.” His tone was sarcastic, and the vampire’s lips curled upwards into a small smirk.

“”I shall endeavor to remind you of this story, if ever you express interest,” Regis said dryly.

“When I went back to Olgierd, he didn’t believe I had completed the tasks, at least not till he saw the box,” Geralt said, turning back to Marla. 

“How did you prove you’d done the other task?” she asked, watching his cat eyes. 

“It was actually easier than I initially thought it would be,” Geralt admitted. He gazed down at his hands, running a finger across his knuckles. “Vlodimir had written Olgierd a letter while he possessed my body, and had asked me to give it to him when I returned. When I gave it to him, there was no denying it was his brother’s handwriting.”

“What was the third wish?” Marla asked. The fire crackled, and cast flickering shadows on the walls, creating what she thought was the perfect setting for telling a story.

“Before I tell you about Olgierd’s last wish, you need to understand the details of his deal with O’Dimm,” Geralt said, sitting back. “His family had fallen into debt over some bad investments, and as a result, his fiancee’s parents had called off Iris’ engagement to Olgierd. They instead promised her to marry the prince, who later became the toad. Olgierd had fallen in with some bad people, and was trying anything he could to clear his family’s debts, and restore his relationship with Iris.” Geralt’s eyes met Marla’s. “That was when he met Gaunter O’Dimm.”

“What did he wish for?” she inquired, reveling in the suspense with bated breath.

Geralt laughed. “What do all men wish for? Immortality and riches, of course. Problem was, that was the way he phrased it, and he didn’t know how O’Dimm operates.”

“What do you mean?” Marla asked, frowning.

“Von Everec and Shakeslock both said the same thing,” Geralt said. He had an odd, measured tone, as though he were holding something back that he didn’t quite want to share. “O'Dimm grants what you wish, not what you want. All who make a pact with him learn the difference - and die by it.” 

Marla’s eyes widened. She put her hands in her lap, hiding the red mark under the blanket.

“He granted von Everec immortality?” Regis asked skeptically.

“Physically, yes. After his deal was struck, Olgierd didn’t age, and couldn’t be killed. Unfortunately for him, he began to lose his emotions, and eventually no longer cared for the woman he had loved so much that he made a deal with the devil to win her hand. He described it afterwards as though his heart had been turned to stone.” Geralt trailed off thoughtfully, gazing at the fire. 

Marla was afraid to ask, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What did Olgierd promise Gaunter, in return for all of this?”

“His soul,” Geralt replied, after a long pause. 

A shiver ran down her spine.

“With his new-found riches, and Iris’ betrothed prince out of the way, her parents had finally relented, and allowed Iris and Olgierd to be married, though how long it was a happy marriage, I couldn’t say. Everything I learned after that point seemed to indicate things turned sour pretty quickly.”

“And the last wish?” Regis asked. He seemed to be just as invested in the story as Marla was.

“For his third wish, Olgierd asked me to bring him the violet rose he gave to Iris - the last gift he ever gave her. I was pretty sure this task would be difficult as well, since he’d saved it for last. He told me I’d find Iris at their estate in Redania.” 

Geralt leaned on his elbow and held the bridge of his nose. “I found her body in their house. When I buried her in the garden, her ghost appeared, and led me to a painting. It was imbued with magic, and I was able to step through the painting into ‘the painted world,’ as her companions called it. They were a dog and cat that could speak, demons that Olgierd had set to look after Iris and keep her company.”

Geralt paused, and crossed his arms, looking away at the fire. “I… experienced several of Iris’ memories,” he said softly. “It was only then that I truly understood how much of himself Olgierd had lost. He was studying magic, trying to find a way to free himself from the deal he’d made with O’Dimm, and had withdrawn from Iris, leaving her alone for the most part. As time went on, he cared less and less. Iris wrote to her parents, wanting to dissolve her marriage. Her father came to take her back with him, and Olgierd flew into a rage, and killed him in front of her. He locked Iris up, never letting her leave the house. One day, he brought her a letter and a violet rose, then he left and never came back.”

Marla’s eyes were filled with tears. Her heart was broken for this poor woman she’d never met. “That’s so sad,” she whispered, looking down at the table.

“It is,” Geralt agreed.

Regis stretched his arm across the table to offer a handkerchief to Marla. She took it, and wiped her eyes. “Were you able to speak with Iris?” he asked, turning to Geralt. The witcher nodded.

“She was a wraith, bound to the world by her anguish over Olgierd. She still loved him, even after everything he’d put her through. When I asked her for the rose, she was hesitant to give it to me, afraid that she would cease to exist. Afraid, I think, of what comes afterwards.” Geralt ran a hand through his hair, pulling it from its ponytail.

“I couldn’t take it from her,” he said, looking up once more. The tone of his voice told Marla that he felt for Iris, too. “She was afraid, and she’d been through so much already. I knew she was a wraith, bound to her memories, but I just… I couldn’t take the rose. I left the painted world, and when I looked at the painting again, it showed her holding the rose.” Geralt paused, clearing his throat.   
“I figured that was good enough, and I cut the painting from the frame and took it back with me. One of Olgierd’s men met me, and I passed along the message that I’d finished the task, and he could meet me where O’Dimm had said: at the ruins of the Temple of Lilvani, in Velen. When he met with me, he accused me of failing in retrieving the rose, and I told him what I had found, and gave him the painting. O’Dimm met us there, and it was one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen,” Geralt recalled, “him walking down from the clouds like there was some invisible staircase. He pulled out Olgierd’s contract, told him his wishes had been fulfilled and it was time to pay up. Olgierd claimed he didn’t have to pay because their pact stated that they had to be ‘standing together on the moon’ for the deal to be completed in full.”

“Standing on the moon?” Regis repeated incredulously. “How?”

Geralt glanced at the vampire. “O’Dimm magicked away the earth that covered the ground where we stood, and revealed the mosaic on the temple floor: a huge crescent moon. He set the contract on fire, and approached Olgierd. I’m not sure how he intended to collect von Everec’s soul, but he never got the chance.”

“You stopped him?” Regis asked, looking at Geralt.

“I bet him my soul that I could beat him at the game of his choosing, and if I won, my deal with him was done, and he’d spare Olgierd as well. He agreed and set me on a trail of chasing mirrors and solving a riddle. As you can see, I’m still alive, so I beat him, and Olgierd’s debt was erased. That was the last I had seen or heard of Gaunter O’Dimm, at least until you arrived here.” He looked at Marla.

She looked back at him. “What happened to Olgierd?” Her voice was a shaky whisper.

Geralt smiled. “That, at least, is a happier story. After O’Dimm released him from the pact, Olgierd… came back to himself. He regained his emotions, and was immediately overcome with guilt and remorse for the terrible things he had done. He was heartbroken for how he had treated Iris, and swore to be a new man, done with his brutal ways. I’ve kept in contact with him since then, and he seems to be doing much better, after giving up on his ideas of glory and immortality. He went to Oxenfurt to study medicine, and become a healer’s apprentice, and that was when he met Shani. They fell in love, and she told me they’ll be getting married soon. I’ll take you to meet him, if you’d like,” Geralt told Marla, rising to his feet and stretching. 

“Now that’s a better ending than I was expecting!” It was a man’s voice that came from the hallway, and the man it belonged to soon followed it into the dining room where they sat. He was tall, and extremely handsome, with striking blue eyes, a dark brown goatee, and matching tousled brown hair. But the thing that stood out the most to Marla as the man strode across the kitchen, was the violent purple shade of his clothes. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Dandelion,” he introduced himself with a slight bow and a yawn. “I’m very excited to meet you, and become acquainted, but you must excuse me. We rode all night to get here, and it’s high time a certain witcher came to bed.” He snaked an arm around Geralt’s waist. “Come dear, don’t force me to ask Regis for something to make you comply,” he threatened, a sleepy twinkle in his eyes. 

“All right,” Geralt said, taking Dandelion’s hand. “You both think about what I said, and give the journal a reading-through. I’m off to sleep like the dead.” 

The two of them disappeared down the hall, and Marla heard a door close. She turned to Regis, not really knowing what to say. He gave her a sly smile.

“Now perhaps you understand more clearly what I meant by “garish clothing,” he said quietly.

Marla stifled a laugh, nodding. Regis looked out the window, then turned back to her.

“You will want your boots,” he said, rising from his seat, “The sun will be rising soon, and I haven’t forgotten a certain promise I made, my darling.”


	9. Note From The Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Update to prove I haven't given up

Hello All,

This will be deleted once I post another chapter to the story. I just need to let everyone know what's going on with me. I promise I haven't given up on this story, and I still feel incredibly guilty whenever I see more hits or comments asking me to update. With everything going on right now, I've been really depressed, and unable to write anything of the suspense/action-packed/dramatic nature that this story demands and deserves. Currently, what's getting me through the pandemic is writing a lot of soft Regis scenes, and I fear if I worked on this story, that's all it would devolve into. The story deserves more, and you deserve more. So, bearing that in mind, I will not be updating this story until "With Ideal Grace" is complete. I know this is a letdown for those of you as invested in Marla's story as I am, but believe me, it's for the best. I promise I will pick it back up again as soon as I can, and I appreciate the love you've given my writing.

Love always,

Ro   
(Gryphonheart)


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